


I'll Be Your Scarecrow

by NotALemon



Series: A Two-Man, One-Angel Operation (Supernatural Rewritten) [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester Fight, Episode: s01e11 Scarecrow, Established Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Gabriel (Supernatural) is Loki, M/M, The Winchesters Need to Use Their Words (Supernatural), Trickster Duties as a Plot Device, episode rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26429470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotALemon/pseuds/NotALemon
Summary: “Yellow Eyes. It’s a demon, Sam," John says.Sam stiffens. “Yellow Eyes? How did you know?”“I know,” John says. “Listen, Sammy. I, uh… also know what happened to Gabriel. Almost happened. I’m so sorry. I would’ve done anything to protect you from that.”“You know where he is?” Sam asks. "And… hang on, how do you know about Gabriel?"“Yeah, I think I’m finally closing in on him,” John says.“Let us help. We have—”“You can’t,” John says. “You can’t be any part of it.”“Why not?” Sam asks.“Listen, Sammy, that’s why I’m calling. You and your brother and your… Gabriel— you gotta stop looking for me.”
Relationships: Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Series: A Two-Man, One-Angel Operation (Supernatural Rewritten) [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643980
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	I'll Be Your Scarecrow

Gabriel stands from the bed and snaps on some clothes, layering up as always. Sam isn’t sure how Gabriel’s snapping thing works, if the things exist in the real world before Gabriel makes them appear, or if Gabriel creates them. He doesn’t know how Gabriel’s power works _at all_ , at least not entirely, and it _bothers him_ to no end. Sam likes understanding things, likes being able to know how things work completely. He loves Gabriel— adores him, almost to death—, but he’ll never be able to completely understand what Gabriel is, how Gabriel works, the extent of Gabriel’s powers, and it infuriates him, just a little bit.

He’s pretty sure Gabriel’s wearing one of his flannels underneath his jacket, which lends credibility to his theory.

“You’re leaving?” Sam asks, quietly enough so he doesn’t wake Dean. He sits up, running a hand through his unruly hair. 

“I’m sorry, popsicle.” Gabriel cups Sam’s cheek. “I got some business to do. You know, trickster stuff.”

“But you’re not—”

“Everyone’ll miraculously survive. Cross my heart ‘n hope to die, stick a needle in my eye, voodoo doll, love you forever, never wanted to die, whatever.”

Sam smiles at him, exhausted. “Gabe, this is serious.”

“Yeah?” Gabriel presses a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “Too bad I’m bad at being serious, huh?”

“Promise you won’t?”

Gabriel removes his hand from Sam’s cheek and shoves both of them into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “I promised you, kiddo. That chapter of my life's been Signed, Sealed, Delivered since I’m Yours.”

“And you make fun of Dean for his pop culture references.”

“First off, he deserves it,” Gabriel says, with a cock-eyed grin. “Second, _I_ can reference things made before the year 1984, which he _can’t_.” 

Sam laughs out his nose. “Yeah, okay,” he says. 

“I’m goin’ up north and taking care of some business. Trickster stuff. No funny business.” Gabriel grins at his own joke. 

“You love funny business,” Sam says. 

Gabriel shrugs. “What can I say?”

“I can’t come with you?”

“Sugar baby, I know you really wanna spend time with me, but this’s, uh, sorta my job, and you _really_ don’t wanna see me like this. It ain’t too hot, and kinda… hm, not great.”

“You said you didn’t kill anyone.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t automatically make it somethin’ you’d be a-okay with.” Gabriel kisses Sam’s forehead, delicately holding the sides of Sam's face. “And as much as I’d like to be able to see more’a you… well, duty calls, and I’m gettin’ _creative_ this time.”

Sam blinks up at Gabriel. “I shouldn’t find this hot, I swear.”

“Well, I think _you're_ hot when you do your job, too, so…” Gabriel smiles at Sam. “So, see ya, baby, just for a couple’a days at most. I’m sure you can survive it, but if you can’t, just pray for me and I’ll be right there. ‘Kay?”

“You want me to pack you a lunch, too?”

Gabriel laughs. “Only if it’s only desserts,” he says.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sam kisses Gabriel softly. “Stay safe.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to _you_?” 

“I know you won’t let me get hurt.”

Gabriel smiles at Sam. “God, you’re so smart. It’s sexy as hell.”

“Don’t get started on that, or you won’t leave.” 

“ _So_ smart.” Gabriel kisses Sam’s forehead. "Get some sleep right now.”

“Yeah, I’ll work right on that.”

“You better.” Gabriel smiles at him, pulling away. “Love you, cupcake.”

“Love you too, Gabe.”

Gabriel snaps away. Sam’s overcome by the need to sleep, burying himself in the quiet of the motel room and the smell of Gabriel in the bedding.

-

Dean’s phone rings on the nightstand, but Dean doesn’t wake. Sam, the light sleeper he is, stirs. 

“Dean,” he mutters.

Dean sleeps on. 

Sam reaches out for the phone, looking at the number. He doesn’t recognize it, but he’s not particularly worried about that. It happens all the time. He flips it open and answers. “Hello?” 

“Sam, is that you?” John asks.

Sam sits up in bed. “Dad?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” John says.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere. We didn’t know where you were, if you were okay.”

“Sammy, I’m alright,” John says. “What about you and Dean?”

Dean slowly wakes up, sleep-ruffled and confused.

“We’re fine,” Sam says. “Dad, where are you?”

Dean sits up in his bed, more awake.

“Sorry, kiddo. I can’t tell you that,” John says, sounding a little like Gabriel.

“What?” Sam asks. “Why not?”

“Is that Dad?” Dean asks.

“Look, I know this is hard for you to understand. You’re just gonna have to trust me on this.”

“You’re after it, aren’t you?” Sam asks. “The thing that killed Mom.”

“Yeah,” John says. “Yellow Eyes. It’s a demon, Sam.”

Sam stiffens. “Yellow Eyes? How did you know?”

“Yellow Eyes?” Dean asks. “What’s he saying?”

“I know,” John says. “Listen, Sammy. I, uh… also know what happened to Gabriel. Almost happened. I’m so sorry. I would’ve done anything to protect you from that.”

“You know where he is?” Sam asks. "And… hang on, how do you know about Gabriel?"

“Yeah, I think I’m finally closing in on him,” John says.

“Let us help. We have—”

“You can’t,” John says. “You can’t be any part of it.”

“Why not?” Sam asks.

“Give me the phone,” Dean commands.

“Listen, Sammy, that’s why I’m calling. You and your brother and your… Gabriel— you gotta stop looking for me. Alright, now, I need you to write down these names.” 

“Names?” Sam asks. “What names, Dad— talk to me, tell me what’s going on.”

“Look, we don’t have time for this. This is bigger than you think. They’re everywhere. Even us talking right now, it’s not safe.”

“No,” Sam says. “Alright? No way.”

“Give me the phone,” Dean says.

“I have given you an order. Now, you stop following me, and you do your job. You understand me? Now, take down these names.”

Dean grabs the phone, then wrestles it from Sam. “Dad, it’s me. Where are you?” He waits patiently while John talks. “Yes, sir,” he says, then pauses again. “Uh, yeah, I got a pen. What are their names?”

-

“Alright, so, the names Dad gave us, they’re all couples?” Sam asks, rubbing at his neck. Gabriel didn’t vanish his hickeys and bite marks before he left, probably as a marker that Sam’s taken. He’s possessive. Sam didn’t think he’d like having such a possessive partner, but he does. At least Dean hasn't mentioned them yet. Sam's not sure what he would do if he did. Maybe drive the Impala into a tree.

“Three different couples,” Dean says. “All went missing.”

“And they’re all from different towns? Different states?”

“That’s right,” Dean confirms. “You got Washington, New York, Colorado. Each couple took a road trip cross-country. None of them arrived at their destination, and none of them were ever heard from again.”

“Well, it’s a big country, Dean,” Sam says, a little irritated. “They could’ve disappeared anywhere.”

“Yeah, _could’ve_ ,” Dean says. “But each one’s route took ‘em to the same part of Indiana. Always on the second week of April. One year after another after another.”

“This is the second week of April,” Sam says, slowly.

“Yep,” Dean says.

“So, Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes?”

“Yahtzee,” Dean says. “Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? All the different orbits Dad had to go through? The man’ns a master.

Sam, annoyed, pulls over to the side of the road, turning off the car. 

“What are you doing?” Dean demands.

“We’re not going to Indiana.”

“We’re not?”

“No,” Sam says. “We’re going to California. Dad called from a payphone. Sacramento area code.”

“Sam,” Dean says.

“Dean, if this is Yellow Eyes, and Dad’s closing in, we’ve gotta be there. We’ve gotta help.”

“Dad doesn’t want our help,” Dean says.

“I don’t care.”

“He’s given us an order.”

“I don’t care,” Sam says, steadfast. “We don't always have to do what he says.”

“Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives. It’s important,” Dean argues.

“Alright, I understand. Believe me, I understand. But I’m talking one week here, man, to get answers. To get revenge.”

“Alright, look, I know how you feel,” Dean says.

“Do you?” Sam snaps.

Dean looks shocked at his brother’s tone. 

“How old were you when Mom died? Four?” Sam asks. “Gabriel almost died six months ago. How the hell would you know how I feel?”

“Dad said it wasn’t safe. For any of us,” Dean argues. “I mean, he obviously knows something that we don’t, so if he says to stay away, we stay away.”

“I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it’s like you don’t even question him.”

“Yeah, it’s called being a good son!” Dean yells.

Sam gets out of the car, slamming the door shut. Dean gets out as well, watching as Sam unloads his belongings from the trunk.

“You’re a selfish bastard, you know that? You just do whatever you want. Don’t care what anybody thinks,” Dean accuses. “It’s ‘cuz of that boyfriend, I swear to God.”

“That’s really what you think?” Sam asks.

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, then this selfish bastard is going to California.” He slings his backpack over his shoulders and walks away, back straight and posture stiff.

“Come on. You’re not serious.” 

“I am serious,” Sam says, stiffly.

“It’s the middle of the night!” Dean shouts. “Hey, I’m takin’ off. I _will_ leave your ass, you hear me?” 

Sam stops walking and turns on his heel. “That’s what I want you to do.”

They stare at each other for a while, waiting for the other to do something.

“Goodbye, Sam,” Dean says. He slams the trunk closed, gets back into the Impala, then drives off. Sam watches him leave before he walks away.

-

Dean pulls to the side of the road in Burkittsville, Indiana, and pulls out his cellphone. He selects _Sam Mobile_ and considers calling Sam, then changes his mind and flips it closed again, shuts off the car, and gets out.

-

Outside of Scotty’s Café, Scotty himself sits on a chair on the porch. Dean walks up to him, gesturing to the sign. “Let me guess,” he says, then points at Scotty. “Scotty?”

Scotty looks up at the sign. “Yep,” he says.

“Hi, my name’s John Bonham,” Dean says.

“Isn’t that the drummer for Led Zeppelin?”

Dean blinks at him, taken aback. “Wow. Good. Classic rock fan.”

“What can I do for you, John?” Scotty asks.

Dean removes two sheets of paper from his pocket; Missing Person flyers for both Holly and Vince Parker. “I was wondering if, uh, you’d seen these people by chance.”

Scotty looks at the flyers, almost idle. “Nope,” he says. “Who are they?” 

“Friends of mine,” Dean says. “They went missing about a year ago. They passed through somewhere around here, and I’ve already asked around Scottsburg and Salem—”

“Sorry,” Scotty says, handing the flyers back to Dean. “We don’t get many strangers around here.”

Dean nods. “Scotty, you got a smile that lights up a room, anybody ever tell you that?”

Scotty stares at him strangely.

Dean chuckles awkwardly. Were Sam or Gabriel here, they’d ruthlessly make fun of him for “flirting”, which he most certainly is _not_ doing. “Nevermind. See you around,” he says, then walks away.

-

Sam stands on the side of the highway, wondering if he should pray to Gabriel. Gabriel would know what to do, or at least make him feel better about the situation. He idly looks around, seeing a young woman with short blonde hair, listening to music with his back turned to him.

“Hey,” Sam says, though she can’t hear him with her headphones on. He walks over to her and puts his hand on her shoulder without realizing how absolutely terrifying it must be for her to be approached by a tall man, no matter how far he slouches down to look as non-intimidating as possible.

She jumps and takes off her headphones. “You scared the hell outta me,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, soft and apologetic. He reaches out a kind hand. “I thought you might need some help.”

“No, I’m good, thanks,” she says icily, wrapping her earbuds up to put them in her pocket.

Sam adjusts his bag on his shoulder. “Uh, so where you headed?” 

The woman gives him a funny look. “No offense, but no way I’m telling you,” she says.

“Why not?” Sam asks.

“You could be some kind of freak,” she says. “I mean, you _are_ hitchhiking.”

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Well, so are you.”

She laughs, too.

A van honks at them and pulls over.

“Need a ride?” the driver asks, looking like the sort of mildly-suspicious man who _could_ be a freak.

“Yeah,” both Sam and the woman reply. 

“Yeah,” Sam repeats, glancing at the woman.

“Just her,” the driver says to Sam. “I ain’t takin’ you.”

The woman gathers her belongings and gets into the van with the driver, looking at Sam from the open window.

“You trust shady van guy and not me?” Sam asks, teasingly.

“Definitely,” the woman replies, equally as teasing.

The van drives off. Perhaps Sam should call Gabriel, just to make things easier. Despite the fact that Gabriel’s been refusing to help him as of late, Sam clings to the hope that he’ll be a little more agreeable without Dean here to annoy him.

He walks on.

-

Dean’s inside the Jorgeson General Store, showing the owners the Missing Persons flyers. “You sure they didn’t stop for gas or somethin’?” he asks.

Harley shows the pictures to his wife, Stacy. Stacy shakes her head.

They look homely enough. Harley’s layered up to fend off the coolness of the day, and Stacey has a maternal look to her.

“Nope, don’t remember ‘em,” Harley says, returning the flyers to Dean. “You said they were friends of yours?”

“That’s right,” Dean says.

Emily comes downstairs, her arms full of decorated boxes. “Did the guy have a tattoo?” she asks.

“Yes, he did,” Dean says.

Emily hands the boxes to Stacey and looks at the flyer of Vince. “You remember?” she asks Stacy and Harley. “They were just married.” She hands Vince’s flyer to Harley.

Harley’s eyes light up with recognition as he puts his knuckle to his mouth. “You’re right,” he says. “They did stop for gas. Weren’t here more than ten minutes.”

“You remember anythin’ else?” Dean asks.

“I told ‘em how to get back to the Interstate,” Harley says. “They left town.”

“Could you point me in that same direction?” Dean asks, eagerly.

“Sure.”

-

Dean drives through the Indiana countryside, full of trees with their new growths on full display. By an orchard near the town, a loud noise comes from the backseat. “What the hell?” he asks. He pulls over and reaches into the bag, pulling out the homemade EMF meter, beeping frantically, the lights on top flashing at full capacity.

-

Dean walks around the orchard, damp and beautiful in that way that new life is in the springtime, everything so magical in the foggy morning. His boots don’t exactly crunch the dead leaves left over from the fall coating the ground of the orchard as he wanders around, noticing a scarecrow on a post. He walks over to it and looks at it, appraising it like a piece of artwork. 

“Dude, you’re fugly,” he says to the motionless scarecrow, breath fogging in the cool air. The scarecrow stares back at him, patchwork face emotionless.

The more Dean looks at it, the more he notices, like the sickle in its hand and a design on its arm. He steals a wooden ladder from a nearby tree and climbs up to the top until he’s at eye level with the scarecrow, looking into the dark, empty eye sockets before removing the clothing on its arm and taking a better look at the design. To confirm, he removes the Missing Persons flyer from his pocket and compares the scarecrow’s arm to Vince’s tribal-inspired tattoo to find them to be exactly the same. 

“Nice tat,” he tells the scarecrow, dryly.

-

Dean returns to the Burkittsville gas station.

“You’re back,” Emily says, from where she’s standing by the gas pumps. She flicks a piece of blonde hair out of her eyes.

“Never left,” Dean replies, shutting the door behind him.

Emily puts her hands in her hoodie pockets. “Still looking for your friends?”

Dean nods. He takes a good look at Emily, taking in her nameplate necklace. “You mind fillin’ her up there, Emily?” he asks.

Emily grabs a pump and fills up the Impala’s tank.

“So, you grew up here?” Dean asks. He leans against the trunk of the Impala with one side, casual as ever.

“I came here when I was thirteen,” Emily says, standing from the gas tank. “I lost my parents. Car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in.”

“They’re nice people,” Dean says.

“Everybody’s nice here.”

“So, what? It’s the, uh, perfect little town?”

“Well, you know, it’s the boonies. But I love it. I mean, the towns around us… people are losing their homes, their farms. But here, it’s almost like we’re blessed.”

Dean nods. “Hey, you been out to the orchard?” he asks. “You seen that scarecrow?”

“Yeah, it creeps me out,” Emily says.

Dean laughs. “Whose is it?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Emily says with a half-shrug. “It’s just always been there.”

Dean nods towards a red van parked near the garage. “That your aunt and uncle’s?”

“Customer,” Emily says. “Had some car troubles.”

“It’s not a couple, is it?” Dean asks. “A guy and a girl?”

Emily nods. “Mm-hmm,” she says, a little suspicious.

Dean looks concerned.

-

Sam’s in a bus station, talking to the clerk. 

“Sorry, the Sacramento bus doesn’t run again til tomorrow,” the clerk says. She checks the schedule half-heartedly. Her hair is straight, bumped at the ends. “Uh, five-oh-five p.m.,” she says.

“Tomorrow?” Sam asks. “There’s got to be another way.”

“Well, there is,” the clerk says. “Buy a car.”

Sam leaves the ticket window, annoyed, removing his PalmPilot and selecting Dean’s phone number, considering calling him. 

The blonde woman from before sits on the floor with her bags around her. “Hey,” she says, when she notices Sam, taking Sam’s attention away from his task.

Sam looks at her, face wrought with confusion, and turns off his PalmPilot. “Hey,” he says, putting it into his pocket.

“You again.”

“What happened to your ride?” Sam asks.

“You were right. That guy _was_ shady. He was all hands.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, concerned for her. 

“I cut him loose.”

Sam looks around, still disappointed. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“Just trying to get to California,” Sam says.

“No way,” the woman says, surprised.

“Yeah,” Sam says. 

“Me, too.” The woman stands and walks toward Sam. “You know, the next bus isn’t until tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”

“Why? What’s in Cali that’s so important?”

“Just somethin’ I’ve been looking for. For a long time.”

“Well, then I’m sure it can wait one more day, right?” The woman gives Sam a bright smile.

Sam laughs. 

She extends her hand for Sam to shake. “I’m Meg,” she says. 

“Sam,” Sam replies.

-

Dean walks into Scotty’s Café to see Scotty giving the couple two slices of apple pie. “Hiya, Scotty,” Dean says, friendly. “Can I get a coffee, black?”

Scotty walks away to get that coffee for him.

“Oh, and some of that pie, too, while you’re at it.” Dean sits at a table next to the couple’s. “How ya doin’?” he asks, conversationally.

The couple waves and smiles at him.

“Just passin’ through?”

“Road trip,” the woman answers noncommittally.

“Hm,” Dean says. “Yeah, me too.”

The couple nods. Scotty comes over to refill their glasses of cider.

“I’m sure these people want to eat in peace,” he admonishes.

“Just a little friendly conversation,” Dean says. Scotty begins to walk off. “Oh, and that coffee, too, man. Thanks.” Scotty looks agitated but continues walking away. “So, what brings you to town?” Dean asks the couple.

“We just stopped for gas. And, uh, the guy at the gas station saved our lives,” the woman says.

“Is that right?” Dean asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah, one of our brake lines was leaking. We had no idea. He was fixing it for us.” 

“Nice people,” Dean says, a little concerned.

“Yeah.”

“So, how long til you’re up and runnin’?”

“Sundown,” the man says. 

“Really.” Dean pauses to think about it for a moment, using his mechanic brain. He’s a man of many talents and skills, despite the common belief that he’s ‘the dumb Winchester brother’. It’s the old ‘brain smarts versus street smarts’ debate. He might not be in law school, but he’s smart enough to know that a leaky brake line should _not_ take that long to fix. “To fix a _break line_?” he asks, leaning forward.

The man nods.

“I mean, you know, I know a thing or two about cars,” Dean says, and it's true. “I could probably have you up and running in about an hour. I wouldn’t charge you anything.”

The woman looks at the man. “You know, thanks a lot, but I think we’d rather have a mechanic do it,” she says, uneasily.

“Sure. I know.” Dean pauses, shifting in his chair. “You know, it’s just that these roads… they’re not real safe at night.”

The couple exchange an uncomfortable look.

“I’m sorry?” the woman asks.

“I know it sounds strange, but, uh— you might be in danger.”

“Look, we’re trying to eat. Okay?” the man says, annoyed.

“Yeah.” Dean’s disappointed by their coldness. Sam’d probably be able to make them comfortable enough to convince them it’s unsafe. He’s always been better at talking to people, something about him that’s so vulnerable it makes people almost automatically trust him. “You know, my brother could give you this puppy dog look, and you’d buy right into it,” he says, almost bitter.

The bell above the café’s door rings as someone walks in. Scotty comes out from the back room and approaches the man. “Thanks for coming, Sheriff.”

Dean’s about to start screaming. He’s seriously considering calling down fucking _Gabriel_ to get him to handle this shit. He’s forgotten how much harder it is to hunt without Sam or Gabriel. Especially Gabriel. But he’ll never tell Gabriel that. Egotistical bastard already thinks too much about himself.

Scotty whispers into the sheriff’s ear. They both look at Dean who, in all his wisdom and guilt, looks away. The sheriff walks over to him. 

“I’d like a word, please.”

“Come on,” Dean says. “I’m having a bad day.”

“You don’t want to make it worse,” the sheriff says, and Dean nods, slowly.

-

Dean drives to the interstate, the sheriff’s car following him with lights and sirens on. When Dean’s on the interstate, the sheriff turns and drives back to Burkittsville.

-

Sam and Meg sit at a table with beer and food around them at the bus station. Sam’s not particularly fond of the options the bus station has when it comes to food, but it’s better than the plain nothing he’d had all day.

“So, what, are you on some kind of vacation or something?” Sam asks, hand around his beer bottle.

Meg laughs. “Yeah, right. It’s all sipping Cristal poolside for me,” she says, sarcastic.

They both laugh at that.

“No,” she says. “I had to... get away from my family.”

“Why?” Sam asks. 

“I love my parents,” Meg says. “And they wanted what’s best for me. They just didn’t care if _I_ wanted it. I was supposed to be smart. But not smart enough to scare away a husband.”

Sam smiles at that.

“Um. It’s just… because my family said so, I was supposed to sit there and do what I was told. So I just went on my own way instead.”

Sam stares at her, dumbstruck by the similarities between Meg, Gabriel, and himself. He thinks Gabriel would like her. Headstrong, sarcastic, funny— all traits Sam likes in the people around him.

He desperately tries not to think about how much he misses Dean. How much he misses _John_. It’s easier to focus on missing Gabriel. Sam’s thoughts about Gabriel are far more uncomplicated than the ones about his family. He knows Gabriel adores him, and he loves Gabriel right back, and they’ve had their rough patches, but they’ve always been… good. But his family? He can’t say the same about them. 

“I’m sorry,” Meg says, suddenly self-conscious. She pulls Sam from his thoughts once more. “The things you say to people you hardly know.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I know how you feel. Remember that brother I mentioned before, that I was road-tripping with?”

Meg nods, looking into Sam’s eyes with an openness that makes Sam ache.

“It’s, uh, kind of the same deal.”

“And that’s why you’re not riding with him anymore?”

Sam shakes his head. 

Meg raises her beer bottle. “Here’s to us. The food might be bad, and the beds might be hard, but at least we’re living our own lives. And nobody else’s.”

Yeah, Gabriel would like Meg.

Sam taps his bottle against hers with a clink.

-

Dean drives back to Burkittsville, smoothly maneuvering the Impala in the dark night, hoping he’s not too late. A train passes overhead, blaring its horn.

-

The couple run through the orchard, the scarecrow coming out from a thicket of trees and walking towards them calmly. They run through the orchard, nearly making it to the clearing when Dean runs in front of them, stopping them.

“Get back to your car,” Dean commands. 

The couple looks over their shoulders, seeing the scarecrow approaching.

“Go! Go!” Dean yells. He cocks his gun and shoots the scarecrow as the couple runs. The scarecrow stumbles at the bullet but continues to walk towards them at its consistent, steady pace. Dean begins to run, cocking his gun and shooting again, but the scarecrow continues on. A third time is just as useless. Dean keeps running, the scarecrow walking after them. “Go! Go!” he urges.

They reach the edge of the orchard, Dean cocking his gun and looking around, but the scarecrow is gone. 

The man pants. “What— what the hell was that?” he asks.

“Don’t ask,” Dean says, sharply.

-

In the bus station, at the middle of the night, Meg’s sleeping on the floor in a shockingly uncomfortable position and Sam’s sitting by his bags, talking to Dean over the phone. 

“The scarecrow climbed off its cross?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I’m tellin’ ya. Burkittsville, Indiana. Fun Town,” Dean says.

“It didn’t kill the couple, did it?” Sam asks. He glances at Meg, making sure she’s still asleep.

“No,” Dean says. “I can’t cope without you, you know.”

“So, something must be animating it. A spirit.”

“No, it’s more than a spirit. It’s a god. A Pagan god, anyway.”

Sam stiffens, thinking of Gabriel. Gabriel had said he was going to deliver some just desserts, and that he was getting creative. But he’d promised _several times_ that he wouldn’t kill anyone. And Sam wants to believe him. 

“Sam?” Dean asks over the phone.

“Yeah, I’m here. Just thinking.” Sam clears his throat. “What makes you say that?” he asks.

“The annual cycle of its killings? And the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. Like some kind of fertility right.”

Sam relaxes. Gabriel’s nothing close to a fertility god. Mischief, yes. Fertility? No.

“And you should see the locals. The way they treated this couple. Fattenin’ ‘em up like a Christmas turkey.”

“The last meal,” Sam says. “Given to sacrificial victims.”

“Yeah, I’m thinkin’ a ritual sacrifice to appease some Pagan god.”

“So, a god possesses the scarecrow…”

“And the scarecrow takes its sacrifice. And for another year, the crops won’t wilt, and disease won’t spread.”

“Do you know which god you’re dealing with?” Sam asks, already thinking of Pagan gods. Gabriel sure would be useful about now, with his extensive “family tree” of Pagan gods, even if they do hold a lot of grudges towards him, as he’s mentioned.

“No, not yet,” Dean says.

“Well, you figure out what it is, you can figure out a way to kill it.”

“I know,” Dean says. “I’m actually on my way to a local community college. I’ve got an appointment with a professor. You know, since I don’t have my trusty sidekick geek boy and his angelic boyfriend to do all the research.”

Sam laughs. “You know, if you’re hinting you need my help, just ask.”

“I’m not hintin’ anything,” Dean says, quickly and roughly. “Actually, uh— I want you to know… I mean, don’t think…”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too,” Sam says. 

“Sam,” Dean says, serious, determined to get his words out. “You were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life.”

Sam stiffens. “Are you serious?”

“You’ve always known what you want. And you go after it. You stand up to Dad. And you always have. Hell, I wish I— anyway… I admire that about you. I’m proud of you, Sammy.”

Sam swallows. “I don’t even know what to say,” he says.

“Say you’ll take care of yourself,” Dean says, in typical concerned older brother fashion.

“I will,” Sam says, emotional.

Dean sniffs, trying to keep it quiet. “Call me when you find Dad,” he says.

“Okay,” Sam says, sad. “Bye, Dean.”

Meg wakes up and moves next to Sam. Sam doesn't particularly want her presence as much as he wants Gabriel’s or even Dean’s, but he still appreciates her.

“Who was that?” Meg asks, sounding more awake than she should be.

“My brother,” Sam replies.

“What’d he say?” 

“Goodbye,” Sam says. 

They exchange a look.

-

Dean walks downstairs with the college professor at the local Community College.

“It’s not every day I get a research question on a Pagan ideology,” the professor says.

“Yeah, well, call it a hobby.” Dean’s a little bitter about everything that’s happened with Sam, about having to let him go, but he knows he’s probably made the right choice. He can’t just force Sam to continue to be a hunter when he has his own life to live.

“But you said you were interested in local lore?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Dean says.

“I’m afraid Indiana isn’t really known for its Pagan worship,” the professor says.

“Well, what if it was imported?” Dean asks. “You know, like, the Pilgrims brought their religion over. Wasn’t a lot of this area settled by immigrants?”

“Well, yeah,” the professor says.

“Like that town near here, Burkittsville. Where are their ancestors from?”

“Uh, northern Europe, I believe. Scandinavia.”

“What could you tell me about those Pagan gods?” Dean akss.

“Well, there are hundreds of Norse gods and goddesses.”

“I’m actually looking for one,” Dean says. “Might live in an orchard.”

-

The professor puts a large, heavy leather book down on one of the desks and opens it up. “Woods god, hm?” He puts on a pair of reading glasses. “Well, let’s see.” He leafs through a couple of pages. 

Dean notices a woodcut of a scarecrow on a post in a field surrounded by farmers. “Wait, wait, wait. What’s that one?” Dean asks, pointing at it.

“Oh, that’s not a woods god, per se,” the professor says.

“ _The V-Vanir_?” Dean reads off, looking up at the professor to ensure that he’s pronouncing it correctly. When the professor nods, he continues. “ _The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm. Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice. One male, and one female._ ” Dean points to the picture. “Kind of looks like a scarecrow, huh?”

“I suppose.” The professor removes his glasses and glances at Dean, darkly.

“ _This particular Vanir that’s energy sprung from the sacred tree_?”

“Well, Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic.”

“So what would happen if the sacred tree was torched?” Dean rises to look the professor in the eyes. “You think it’d kill the god?”

The professor laughs. “Son, these are just legends we’re discussing.”

“Oh, of course. Yeah, you’re right. Listen, thank you very much.” He shakes the professor’s hand.

“Glad I could help,” the professor says.

Dean walks to the classroom door, but when he opens it, the sheriff hits him on the head with the butt of his rifle. Dean falls to the ground. The sheriff and the professor exchange a knowing look.

-

Dean’s trapped in a cellar in Burkettsville, wondering how his luck got this shitty. Sam never would’ve walked into this trap, even though that’s probably only because of that feathery asshole whispering secrets into his ear. The cellar door opens, letting in the cold air, damp with rain from earlier. Emily’s there, crying, being held by her aunt and uncle.

“Aunt Stacy, Uncle Harley, please,” she begs, though they don’t answer. They just bring her down the creaky old cellar stairs and deposit her next to Dean. “Why are you doing this?”

“For the common good,” Stacy replies, cold. She shuts the cellar door, leaving Emily and Dean in the dark, damp cellar. 

-

Meg gathers her things from the bus station floor. Sam desperately tries to call Dean on his phone.

“Hey,” Meg says. “Our bus came in.”

Sam hangs up the phone and shakes his head. “You better catch it. I gotta go.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder.

“Go where?” Meg asks.

“Burkittsville.” Sam walks away from the ticket window.

“Sam, wait,” Meg says, running after him.

“I’ve been trying to call my brother for the last three hours. I’m just getting his voicemail.

“Well, maybe his phone’s turned off,” Meg suggests.

“No, that’s not like him,” Sam says. “Meg, I think he might be in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I can’t really explain right now. I’m sorry. Look, I don’t want you to miss your bus.”

“But I don’t understand,” Meg says. “You’re running back to your brother? The guy you ran away from? Why, because he won’t pick up his phone? Sam— come with me to California.” Meg begs.

Sam thinks of his little apartment with Gabriel, of going to class at Stanford, of Gabriel’s bright eyes when he said _wanna get a drink, kiddo?_. All of that was in California. The best years of his life were in California. His friends were in California. His father is in California.

But Dean _isn’t_. And Dean isn’t picking up his phone. 

“I can’t,” Sam says. “I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” Meg asks, softly.

“He’s my family,” Sam says. He leaves. Meg watches his back as he walks away, nearly in tears. 

-

Dean tries to open the cellar door, but it isn’t working. The old wood is too sturdy, locked too well, and Dean is tired. _Sam_ could probably open the door. Easily. Kid’s all shoulders. Broad. Works out every day. Or hell, Gabriel could just open it with a snap of his fingers.

Damn Burkittsville for making Dean miss Gabriel.

“I don’t understand,” Emily says. “They’re gonna kill us?”

“Sacrifice us,” Dean says, passing from trying to shoulder the cellar door open. “Which is, I don’t know, classier, I guess?” Dean walks down the rickety wooden stairs, closer to Emily, going a little soft. “You didn’t know anything about this, did you?”

“About what? The scarecrow god? I can’t believe this,” Emily says, walking away.

“Well, you better start believing, ‘cuz I’m gonna need your help.”

“Okay,” Emily says.

“Now, we can destroy the scarecrow, but we gotta find the tree.”

“What tree?”

“Maybe you can help me with that,” Dean says. “It would be really old. The locals would treat it with a lot of respect, you know. Like it was sacred.”

“There was this one apple tree,” Emily says, after a moment. “The immigrants brought it over with them. They call it the First Tree.”

“Is it in the orchard?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know where.”

The door to the cellar opens, light pouring in from outside, and the four elders of the town stand there, the Sheriff pointing his gun at Dean and Emily.

“It’s time,” Stacy says, grimly. Dean and Emily look at each other nervously.

-

The elders tie Dean and Emily to two adjacent trees, ensuring that they can’t escape. 

“How many people have you killed, Sheriff?” Dean asks, pointed and sharp. “How much blood is on your hands?”

“We don’t kill them,” the sheriff says.

“No, but you sure cover up after. I mean, how many cars have you hidden, clothes have you buried?”

The sheriff walks away, not wanting to deal with Dean’s invasive, angry questions.

“Uncle Harley, please,” Emily begs, tearfully.

“I am so sorry, Em. I wish it wasn’t you,” Harley says.

“Try to understand. It’s our responsibility,” Stacy says from her other side. “And there’s just no other choice. There’s nobody else but you.”

“I’m your family,” Emily says.

“Sweetheart, that’s what sacrifice means,” Stacy says, a tear falling down her cheek. She kneels down next to Emily and strokes her hair. “Giving up something you have for the greater good. The town needs to be safe. The good of the many outweighs the good of the one.” 

The four elders leave Emily and Dean tied to their trees.

“I hope your apple pie is freakin’ worth it!” Dean yells at their backs, full of rage.

“So, what’s the plan?” Emily asks.

“I’m workin’ on it.”

-

Hours later, they’re still in the orchard, still tied to trees, and no closer to escaping than they were back when the sun was still up. Crickets chirp in the darkness.

“You don’t have a plan, do you?” Emily asks.

“I’m workin’ on it,” Dean says, slightly panicked. He’d rather not die while tied to a tree with his brother across the country. He has so many regrets, so many things he has yet to do. So many things he hasn’t said, interesting people he hasn’t met, drinks he hasn’t had. John will think he gave up on him. And Sam— Sam will still think Dean doesn’t care. “Can you see?” he asks.

“What?” Emily asks.

“Is he moving yet?” Dean asks.

“I can’t see,” Emily says, but then she notices a figure moving through the trees, crunching on the ground as it moves. “Oh my God,” she gasps. The figure moves closer as Dean struggles to untie his ropes. “Oh my God!” she yells.

Sam emerges from behind the trees. “Dean?” he asks.

“Oh!” Dean says, overjoyed. “Oh, I take everything back I said. I’m so happy to see you. Come on.”

Sam unties Dean from the tree. 

“How’d you get here? Boyfriend show back up?”

“I, uh— I stole a car,” Sam says, a little sheepish.

Dean laughs. “That’s my boy!” He beams up at Sam, warmth flooding in his chest. John taught him how to hotwire, and he taught Sam. There’s pride in teaching someone how to do something, and more pride when they do it. “And keep an eye on that scarecrow. He could come alive any minute.” Dean finally lowers his arms, restraints gone.

“What scarecrow?” Sam asks.

Dean gets up and sees that the scarecrow’s post is empty. He gives Sam a nervous look.

-

They run through the orchard with Emily in tow. 

“Alright, now, this sacred tree we’re talking about—”

“It’s the source of its power,” Dean explains.

“So let’s find it and burn it,” Sam says.

“Nah, in the morning,” Dean says. “Let’s just shag ass before Leatherface catches up.”

The three reach a clearing. The elders and other townspeople wait for them, shotguns and flashlights in tow.. 

“This way,” Dean says.

They turn, but they’re blocked in every direction by townspeople. 

“Please,” Emily begs, gasping for breath. “Let us go.”

“It’ll be over quickly, I promise,” Harley says, soothingly.

“Please.”

“Emily, you have to let him take you,” Harley says. “You have to—”

The scarecrow sticks his sickle through Harley’s stomach. Emiy and Stacy scream before Stacy’s taken by the scarecrow as well. Emily runs into Dean’s arms while her aunt and uncle, the only two relatives she has, are dragged away by their scarecrow god. The townspeople run from the scene.

“Come on, let’s go,” Dean says, and with that, he, Emily, and Sam take off running again, turning around at a suspicious noise only to see that the scarecrow has vanished with his victims, stopping when they realize they’re alone in the cold, foggy spring night.

-

Morning sunlight falls over them as they walk through the orchard with a jug of gasoline and a lighter, approaching the sacred tree with solemn looks. The ancient tree is marked by an image carved into the bark. Sam pours the gasoline on the tree, thinking of Gabriel. What would he think about this? Them destroying another Pagan god? Would he care?

Dean picks up a long branch and lights its end with the silver Zippo the way John taught him to. 

“Let me,” Emily says, grim. She takes the branch from Dean.

“You know, the whole town’s gonna die,” Dean warns, quiet and equally grim. He doesn’t like this, the part where people have to die, but he knows that if he doesn’t, others will die, too.

“Good,” Emily says. She slowly approaches the tree, almost reverent in her steps, then tosses the burning branch onto the tree, the three of them watching as the flames crawl up the bark.

-

Emily’s getting on a bus to Boston at the bus stop. She gives Dean a kind smile, who waves at her. She waves back before she takes her seat.

Dean and Sam watch as the bus leaves.

“Think she’s gonna be alright?” Sam asks.

“I hope so,” Dean says.

“And the rest of the townspeople, they’ll just get away with it?”

“Well, what’ll happen to the town will have to be punishment enough,” Dean says, solemn. The weight of what they do is heavy, and sometimes it’s almost impossible to bear. He thinks of children, of innocent people. He thinks of the monsters who allowed this sacrifice in the first place. Somewhere within there is justice. They walk to the Impala together. “So, can I drop you off somewhere?”

“No, I think you’re stuck with me,” Sam says. 

Dean stops aand looks at Sam. “What made you change your mind?” he asks.

“I didn’t,” Sam says. “I still wanna find Dad. And you’re still a pain in the ass.”

Dean nods at that.

“But, Mom— she’s gone. Dad is God knows where. You and me. We’re all that’s left. So, uh, if we’re gonna see this through, we’re gonna do it together.”

Dean pauses, taking it all in. “Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful.” He puts his hand on Sam’s shoulder before Sam swats it away. They both laugh.

“You should be kissing my ass. You were dead meat, dude.”

“Yeah, right. I had a plan. I’d have gotten out.” Dean walks around the Impala and opens the door.

“Right,” Sam says, with a smile. Dean grins back at him before he gets into the car.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back on my bullshit! The first semester of college has been great so far, other than the broken foot and everything. But whatever, things happen. 
> 
> It was very odd to write a fanfic for this series that doesn't prominently feature Gabriel. How was it? Anything you'd never want to see again? I'm really excited for the Faith rewrite It's shaping up to be a difficult write, for sure.


End file.
